The Ship Who Saved the Worlds

by Anne McCaffrey

  "We will stop taking from the traders, but you must convince your own kind to stop bringing it to us," Noonday said. "For as long as it continues to be available, someone will buy it. We cannot police everyone. But so long as there is no source, then no one can buy."

  "Then we need to find this Melange, and stop the illicit trade," Keff said. "How do you know when they are coming?"

  Thunderstorm rose and opened a low cabinet behind his desk. In it was a communications unit.

  "I activate this once a day to receive messages, if there are any."

  "Cari!" Keff said, hovering over it.

  "Of course, Keff. Tell him to turn it on."

  Keff conveyed the order, and the Thelerie tweaked an old-fashioned knob with his claw. He winced at the rising growl that came from the set as its tubes—tubes—warmed up. It was of ancient design, possibly of ancient manufacture as well. But it would last nearly forever in this environment, if not subjected to harsh treatment.

  "I have the frequency. It's specific, and common, if you happen to hail from Central Worlds. It's in the educational transmissions band."

  "Very sly," Keff said. "If a mysterious broadcast comes in over this band, most monitors will think it's kids playing pranks."

  "Yes," Carialle said. "In the meantime, I can stay open on that frequency and hear the moment anyone in range uses it."

  "Do you ever send a message yourself on this unit?" Keff asked.

  "No, never," Thunderstorm said. "I speak to Zonzalo when he calls me, but I do not summon them."

  "We have a name," Carialle said. "I can send to the nearest space station for criminal files. Zonzalo what?"

  "Don," Thunderstorm said. "He speaks for the leaders, Aldon Fisman and Mirina Don. Mirina is senior sibling of Zonzalo."

  "Fisman?" Keff asked. "Related to the first Fisman?"

  "Child of that one," Thunderstorm explained. "He is my friend. Strong and fierce, with less warmth than the parent. Mirina embraces the apprentices. She is kindhearted."

  "Kindhearted pirates," Carialle said ironically.

  "Hush, Cari," Keff said, soothingly. "We have names. Get on to CenCom and let's see how far their records go back."

  Carialle opened up her receivers on the frequency she had gleaned from Thunderstorm's unit. With so little on-air traffic on this planet, it should be easy to detect another transmitter. Yes, there it was. Carialle couldn't tell precisely where it was, but she could guess approximately how far away in the direction of the strongest signal, where the antenna lay. She triangulated the location on the maps she had made of Thelerie, and made her best guess. If she had to, she could make a flyover of that region to be certain.

  "Got one," she said to Keff, interrupting another information dump from Thunderstorm. From being taciturn and cagey, the Sayas of the space program had become almost too eager to help.

  "Only one?" Keff asked. She saw his hand go up in front of his chest with one finger raised, a request for the Thelerie to pause.

  "Only one base," Thunderstorm said, as his newfound friend fell silent, communing with the internal voice again. "I will show it to you, if you wish."

  "Only one, not too high powered, so our friends count on getting very close to this planet before making contact," Carialle said, running through a quick calculation. "It's north-northeast of you, probably a couple hundred klicks. They're very sure no one will sneak up on them."

  "Well, they're wrong," Keff said, smacking one hand into another. "This time, we'll be lying in wait."

  "And we freeze them in place," Big Voice said, extending his two fists out in front of him." He rose off the floor above everyone's head, and spun in a circle.

  "No, no!" Keff exclaimed, diving for the councillor's globe before it crashed into one of the pavilion's supports. "We need information from them. We can only do that if they're free to move and speak."

  "Oh," Big Voice said, looking disappointed as Keff put him back on the floor. "It would be simpler. But how can we do this?"

  "I have a cunning plan," Keff said, grinning at the little party in the pavilion. "What do the Melange come here for?"

  "To gas up, and to pick up a supply of natural navigators," Carialle said at once.

  "Well, to trade," Keff said, clarifying for the others. He sat down in his sling again and held out both hands. "We don't want them to cut and run, we want to talk to them. We're unarmed, and besides, policing is not our job. We gather information. So, what if the next time they come, they find someone here in their particular, secret treasure house, ready to undercut any price they ask for better goods?"

  Carialle sounded amused. "They wouldn't automatically identify traders as CW personnel."

  "Exactly," Keff said, lifting himself into a pike position with his hands braced on the supports of the sling-chair. "They'd land and try to find out who we are and where we come from.

  "They might try to destroy you," Thunderstorm pointed out. "There is no mercy in them."

  "It doesn't matter," Keff said. "Once they're out of their ships, they're vulnerable." He plopped back onto the thick, black strap and swung back and forth, pleased with himself.

  "We can capture them," Tall Eyebrow said, clamping an imaginary prey between his large hands.

  "But you have no trade goods to attract attention," Narrow Leg said. "We have brought nothing."

  "That's where you're wrong," Keff said, leaning forward with a grin. "We have some very fine trade goods. Now, listen closely."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "No more word from Base Eight," Zonzalo said, slapping an impatient hand down on the console. "That ship must have gotten them. It's too late."

  Mirina bowed her head to say a quiet farewell to the lost crews. Some of them had been good friends of hers ever since the beginning of her association with the Melange. Some of them were apprentices she had brought on board and taught the ropes; innocents, like Sunset, who was wide-pupiled at the news.

  "Are they all dead?" the Thelerie asked, searching his beloved humans' faces.

  "We don't know that," Bisman said nonchalantly, brushing off the youngster's question. "The radios might have broken down, that's all. All the stuff's old."

  "All of them?" Mirina asked in a sarcastic tone, taking care to keep her voice low. "Three ships and the master transmitter and all the backups broke down at once?"

  "What do you want me to say?" Bisman hissed between his teeth. "You want the kid yammering to be taken home because he's scared?"

  "He ought to know the truth, Aldon," Mirina hissed back, planting a palm in the middle of his chest and pushing. Bisman, taken by surprise, backed up into the bulkhead with a thump. His necklace of curios jangled. He brushed Mirina's hand away, and she put it on her hip. "The idea is that we let him make his own decisions, based on honest information, so he can function on his own one day in space, just like we promised them. If we don't tell him anything, he's just blundering along."

  "Huh. Like the rest of us." Bisman turned away to go aft toward the mess, dismissing her. Suddenly, Mirina felt weary of the constant fighting, the dishonesty, the deaths. She strode after Bisman, finally having to run up the corridor to catch him. He turned around when he heard the hurrying footsteps behind him. Mirina beckoned him under a ventilation duct so the noise would cover their voices to the crew on the bridge.

  "What?" Bisman demanded, deliberately standing over her so she had to crane her head back to look at him. She refused to let his tactics dismay her.

  "Aldon, I want to quit."

  "Quit what?" Bisman asked, acidly.

  "I'm tired," Mirina said, standing back a pace and easing her head down. She massaged the back of her neck, and felt the tension in the muscles there. "I've been thinking a lot about this lately. This wasn't supposed to be a permanent arrangement, me staying on with you and the others."

  "What's to think about?" Bisman asked, his thick, dark eyebrows tented in a puzzled peak over his nose. "We've got an arrangement. We work together, and we make money.
That's what you wanted."

  "Well, that's what I wanted for a while. Now, I want to stop."

  Bisman scowled at her. "You're not serious."

  Mirina let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, I'm serious."

  "Why do you want to leave?" Bisman asked. "We're good together."

  "We haven't really been together in a long time, Aldon," Mirina said, patiently, trying to make him understand. She searched his face. "You know that. Everyone needs change after a while. I've been here eight years. It's time for me to move on. I need to." Then, daringly, "And I'm taking Zon with me."

  Bisman was immediately suspicious. "Why?"

  Mirina planted her hands on her ample hips. "Because that's what I meant to do eight years ago when I came looking for him," she said, without raising her voice. She could see by his expression that he finally understood her determination, but he still didn't like it. "I meant to take him and go. Then I stayed. Now it's time for us to leave. That's all."

  "Miri, honey, you can't go! We need you," Bisman said, bending his knees so he could look directly into her eyes. He clasped her upper arms and shook her gently, a tender look on his face. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth on her shoulders to the indentation under her collarbone. Mirina groaned inwardly as she felt the tingle spread through her body. She knew he was going to try emotional blackmail, and here it came. He hadn't touched her like that in over two years. The contact felt so good, reminding her of the days when they'd been lovers, but she knew it was only a tool he was using on her. Suddenly, she felt angry that she could be so thoroughly manipulated.

  "You don't need me," Mirina said, fighting for a clear mind. "You did once, Aldon, but now the operation is running well. It's profitable, and everyone's taking good care of themselves."

  "There, you see?" Bisman said, with another friendly shake. "We're in good shape because of you. You've done so much for us. We wouldn't have grown like this. Couldn't have. We can't do without you. The Melange needs you."

  "You needed me," Mirina said, emphatically. "It isn't the same thing any more. As soon as we finish this run to Thelerie, Zon and I are leaving." He heard the hard tone of her voice and let her go, almost pushing her away. Mirina felt cold like the void of space fill the gap between them. Shivers replaced the tingle. No, there hadn't been any residual affection there.

  "To hell with you, then," he said, his voice flat. "Go. You've got plenty of money from your shares to go anywhere you want."

  "I don't want it." Aha, that surprised him. "I've never taken a thing out of the kitty, Aldon. It's all still there. I'll leave you every credit in exchange for a ship, any ship, even a junker. I can make it run."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," Bisman said, making a fist. He held it in midair as if he didn't know what to do with it. For a moment Mirina was afraid he would hit her. Then he slammed his hand against the bulkhead over her shoulder. "You're crazy, the both of you. All right, then. When we make planetfall, you can leave in a ship, and go to hell while you're at it." He threw the last words over his shoulder as he stalked away toward the galley. Always the master of the parting line.

  "Thank you, Aldon," Mirina called after him, genuinely grateful. He'd given her his word. Bisman wasn't paying any attention. Probably planning the next raid to make up for the loss of a ship.

  She had to think of her own next move, too, after Thelerie. They were only a day or two away. It was going to take some fancy planning to begin life anew without a credit to her name. At least she could top off the tank of whatever vessel Bisman let her have. Thunderstorm's wrecks were available, but they wouldn't get her a light-year before blowing up. Damn it, she thought. She would have liked to stick around until the Thelerie became spaceworthy on their own. They were coming along so well. It would have been this generation that finally made the last step, and she would've been there to see it. Maybe some day she'd meet one of them in a remote outpost somewhere. Maybe they'd remember her. Mirina sighed, her heart and shoulders equally heavy. Maybe not. She went to tell Zonzalo of her decision.

  Mirina woke in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. Yes, she had heard something, a noise on the edge of sound. A hiss.

  In the utter blackness of her cabin she couldn't see anything, but she sensed that the shape of the space had changed. She could feel the air blowing on her skin from another angle. The door was open, but the corridor lights had been killed. Mirina's remaining senses roared up to high awareness. The pulses of the ship grew loud, and she felt the thrum of the engines in her flesh. Her sense of smell became enhanced, too. Mirina scented sweat and another, less tangible odor, sharp and thin. Fear. The shape of the darkness changed again, as a body moved between her and the source of air.

  "Who's there?" she said out loud. The light hiss stopped, but no one spoke. Mirina felt a cold ball of terror in her stomach. She drew her legs to one side, bracing her muscles to spring to her feet on the bunk. Her balance was bad because her hip couldn't lie flat, forcing her knee to stay up. Damn, she wished she had kept in better shape! Complacency might now be the death of her.

  The unseen person drew closer. She was almost certain the intruder was alone. Who was it? Why was it there? Such elaborate preparations boded no good to her.

  In a voice so calm it surprised her, she said, "I have a laser pistol in my hand. I don't give a damn if the beam goes through you or the bulkhead. I'll give you to three before I start slagging everything in this cabin. One. Two . . ." She threw back the covers from her arms.

  The small sound alarmed the intruder. The footsteps, for the sound was feet sliding on the floor, scurried out into the passage. The door ground back into place, and the room regained its proper shape. Mirina clapped her hand to the wall for the lights. After two or three attempts, the switches engaged, flooding the room with white light. Mirina blinked blindly. In a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she scanned the cabin. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Somebody had disconnected the power to her lights and her door to make his or her work easier, and would join the group expressing shock and outrage in the morning when Mirina would be found conveniently dead. She had foiled the attempt, but the sneak remained at large in the ship, having left no clues as to identity.

  She ought to go wake up Bisman, and start an inquiry immediately, and check who, right now, had an elevated pulse. Maybe the sneak left fingerprints on the life-support controls, or footprints on her floor. Then Mirina realized that Bisman couldn't care less any more what happened to her. No clue was worth interrupting sleep.

  She beat her hands on her thighs in frustration. How naive of her to think she'd just be allowed to walk away from the Melange! Bisman had gone straight to the mess hall and told everyone the Dons wanted to jump ship. Naturally, the first thought through everyone's mind must have been that she and Zonzalo intended to turn them all in and plead state's evidence. How stupid of her not to take that into account. From now until there was a light-year or so between her and the crew, her life was in danger. She'd better start packing that threatened pistol, and take other precautions. Listening for more footsteps in the hall, Mirina rose and hunted out her toolkit. She disconnected the door's mechanism, so there would be no more surprises, from that source at least.

  The next two days were miserable. The raiders shunned even eye contact with the traitor. Mirina had felt lonely before, but she couldn't have anticipated real isolation. Zonzalo was no help. He resented being yanked away from his friends, and what he thought of as a career. He would go with his sister when she left, but he was unhappy, and he let everyone know it, loudly. Mirina was alone in her insistence on their upcoming departure. Fortunately, no one made an attempt on her life during day shift. The atmosphere was growing so hostile that Mirina started wearing the laser pistol on her hip and other weapons concealed about her person. Bisman didn't look at her directly at any time, but she caught sidelong glances when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She wondered what he was thinking.

  She anticipated another attack
, probably just as she and Zonzalo were ready to leave. They couldn't go, she realized. Not with the knowledge she had of all their operations, all their bases—their identity. By opening her mouth, she'd doomed herself and her brother.

  Why hadn't she simply taken Zon and gone away, all those years ago? She'd been a fool. Ignored by the bridge crew, Mirina went back to her cabin and locked herself in.

  "Mirina?" Sunset's mellow voice, sweet and sad, came from outside her door on the morning of the third, lonely day.

  "Yes?" she asked, without opening it. She checked the monitor camera she had hidden in the bulkhead across from her door during the last dark shift. Nothing there but the back and wings of the young Thelerie. "What do you want?"

  "May I see you?" he asked.

  "That would be a bad idea right now," she said, keeping her voice flat. She was afraid to show the young Thelerie any warmth, lest Bisman and the others take out their anger on him after the Dons were gone. Or dead.

  "Then, when? I must speak."

  Mirina sighed. "Come in, but quickly." She reconnected the mechanism and slapped the control. Sunset clattered in on four feet, and stood, his noseless face almost in the works as she pulled the switches apart again.

  "You are afraid," he said.

  "Yes," she said. Her nervous laugh strangled into a squeak, so she chopped it off. She swung an arm toward the chair at her desk, and lifted one hip onto the edge of her bed. Sunset obediently walked over and slung his midsection across the chair seat. "Don't worry. I can handle it. So, what is it, youngster?"

  "The others are talking about you," he said, his wide eyes fixed on her. "I do not wish to question. I am obedient, but you are my friend, and I am concerned."

  Mirina was touched. So far even Bisman had failed to corrupt this gentle innocent. If there was anything she could do to make certain he was protected after she was gone, she'd do it.

  "Thank you. What did they say?"